A Family To Belong To

Dear Reader,

I think we’ve all experienced the agony of unrequited love sometime in our lives. You know…that boy you were too scared to speak to and whose smile made your day just that little bit brighter. For my Kate that “boy” was Gideon Manser.

I hope you ache for her—for them both—because life has hit them hard. In reality things do not always work out the way we would wish, but in my story Gideon and Kate have the happy ending they richly deserve.

The Isle of Wight, where this book is set, is a real place. My husband worked on it for a couple of summers, and my family and I escape there whenever we can. If you stand at the bottom of England and look out to sea, you will see it. Just twenty-three miles by thirteen miles, it’s a truly magical place. I can’t think of many places more perfect to live out a “happy ever after.”

Much love,

Natasha

Harlequin Romance® is thrilled to bring you another sparkling new book from British author

Natasha Oakley

Her poignant and emotional writing will tug on your heartstrings.

Books by Natasha Oakley

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3838—FOR OUR CHILDREN’S SAKE

3854—THE BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT

A Family To Belong To
Natasha Oakley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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NATASHA OAKLEY told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, U.K., she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for “crowd control,” she loves to escape to antique fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her Web site www.natashaoakley.com

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE wind tasted salty on her lips and the ice-cold rain pitted her cheeks. Kate Simmonds stared out at the slate-grey sea and felt her hair flick painfully around her face.

She was coming home.

Too late.

Aunt Babs was dead.

She lifted one shaking hand to push back her hair. A week ago everything had been so different, or had seemed that way. Then there’d been time. She had known she’d make the trip back home some time—just not yet. She wasn’t ready. Even now. And Aunt Babs had understood. She really had.

But now it was too late.

Kate leant against the metal bar of the upper ferry deck and looked out to sea. An immense grey vastness stretching out before her. It put everything into perspective somehow. Made all her bitter angst seem rather unimportant and petty. She should have made time.

Aunt Babs had given her a home. She’d taken an awkward, angry little ten-year-old into her house and loved her as though she’d been her own. A foster mum in a million. Kate knew she’d deserved more from her than the weekly phone call and the occasional trip to London. It was just one more regret to add to the pile she was accumulating in her life.

It must be almost six years since she’d made this trip. She’d not meant to stay away so long. Six years! So much had changed in that time. She had changed. She was barely recognisable from that twenty-two-year-old Katie. She’d passed through Katie, Kay and Katherine before becoming Kate. Reinvented. Kate Simmonds. Poised. Elegant. In control of her life.

If only that were true. Inside she still lived with the same cankerous uncertainties and a desperate desire to belong. Still carried the scars of rejection. And now, of course, there was something more. Something even deeper. A more recent pain that seared like a branding iron. She pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her long black coat and turned away from the overwhelming greyness of the March sky.

Just a handful of tourists had ventured outside to eagerly watch the Isle of Wight appear in the distance. They stood clustered together under a canopy of clashing umbrellas. Dimly she was aware of a questioning glance directed at her, then a half-smile as though the elderly lady in the red anorak thought she might know her.

Kate looked away. She didn’t. It was an illusion—like so much of her life. She didn’t want the inane conversation she knew would follow. She wanted to be left alone with her thoughts, however painful.

Abruptly Kate turned and walked back across the deck, pulling open the heavy metal door. The high heels on her suede boots made the steep steps down difficult and her black coat spread out behind her like a flowing cape.

Below, the passenger lounge smelt of chips and stale cigarettes but it was good to be out of the bitter wind. Kate shook out her hair and unwound her long burnt-orange scarf before joining the crocodile of people waiting in line for something to drink.

‘If you want coffee you’re in the wrong queue.’

Her head whipped up at the sound of a male voice and she stared up into the face of Gideon…Manser.

His name fell effortlessly into place. She remembered him perfectly. His intense blue eyes and angular features. The small indentation in the centre of his chin. A man with more sex appeal than the average movie star. And the object of her unrequited teenage fantasies.

‘The machine’s broken down this side,’ he said calmly, a faint smile pulling lines in his strong cheeks.

Gideon Manser.

Instinctively her hand went to her hair; she was uncomfortably aware it hung damp and limp about her face. She’d have known him anywhere. He hadn’t altered at all. Or perhaps he had a little. He was slightly thinner. Tired-looking. Slightly worn at the edges. But he was still sexy. Very sexy indeed.

‘Thank you,’ she managed.

She could remember, all too clearly, what a complete and utter fool she’d made of herself when he’d first arrived on the island. At seventeen she’d thought he was the most gorgeous thing to have ever walked the planet—and she couldn’t have made it much plainer.

He was older than her. Much older. A top London chef who’d lived in France and Italy. He’d had all the glamour and sophistication her young heart had craved. Just thinking about how she’d behaved made her long to curl up in a ball and howl with humiliation.

Strangely he didn’t seem so old to her now. With the magic of adulthood she seemed to have caught him up. Kate straightened her shoulders. ‘It’s Gideon, isn’t it?’ Kate hesitated. ‘Gideon Manser? Do you remember me? I’m Kate. Kate Simmonds? Well, I was always called Katie. You perhaps don’t remember me. I—’

Shut up. Just shut up. Stop babbling on, she thought desperately. It would be better if he didn’t remember her.

She bit down on her lip. He probably wouldn’t remember. Why should he? He hadn’t been interested in her. They must have laughed at her—him and Laura. Or felt sorry for her—which would be worse.

‘Of course I remember you,’ he said, stretching out his hand.

Hell! She felt a flush mottle her neck as she stretched out her own hand.

‘It would be difficult not to.’ He smiled and his fingers wrapped around hers. ‘Babs has…had,’ he corrected swiftly, ‘photographs of you everywhere and Debbie made sure everyone knew you were on the television now. Half the island is fascinated by your reports from the States each week. You’re a celebrity. A local girl made good.’

Kate looked down at her boots. ‘Oh, right.’ She should have guessed she’d be a minor celebrity on the Isle of Wight. Debbie had just loved it when she’d landed the job as LA correspondent and started making weekly television reports. Couldn’t hear enough of who was doing what and with whom.

And Aunt Babs had just been proud. The thought speared her with guilt. She should have come back to the island before now. It would have meant so much to the woman who’d changed her life so dramatically.

Gideon looked across at the other queue. ‘We’d better get in line or there won’t be time to have a coffee.’

‘I suppose not.’

She felt her stomach twist in a nervous flutter. Gideon Manser. Why did he have this effect on her still? She was twenty-eight years old, for heaven’s sake. Her world was peopled with sexy men. She’d interviewed most of them. He wasn’t anything special.

And yet…

She fiddled with the strap of her handbag. It was probably the place. It brought back memories she hadn’t thought of in years. Rocked her off balance. Or maybe Gideon was just a symbol of what she couldn’t have. Something else she couldn’t have, she amended silently.

She looked back at him. His jacket collar was pulled up against the cold, his jeans were dark and his hands were…well, they were beautiful.

He reached across for the tray. ‘Debbie said you’d be coming home for the funeral.’

‘Y-yes.’

‘Was it difficult to get away?’ Kate reached across for a tray of her own but he stopped her. ‘Don’t bother. I’ll get these.’

‘You don’t have to. I—’ She broke off and let her hand fall back. ‘Thank you.’

‘So—’ he turned to smile at her ‘—was it difficult?’

His smile was like a gateway to a time tunnel. She felt as if she was shooting back through the years at the speed of light. So many memories flashing by. The kind that came up to bite you when you were least expecting it.

At seventeen she’d fantasized about what it would be like to kiss him. At night she’d closed her eyes and pretended he was her pillow and imagined his voice telling her how much he loved her. She pulled her gaze away from his lips, embarrassed.

She’d been an idiot. It wasn’t surprising a man of twenty-six hadn’t been interested in an adolescent seventeen.

‘Did you find it difficult to get away for the funeral? Debbie thought you might be too busy. Not be able to make it.’

Kate stuffed her hands down into the depths of her coat pockets. ‘Oh, no.’

‘No?’ he repeated.

He seemed to be watching her critically. Probably wondering why she couldn’t have visited Aunt Babs and Debbie more often if it were so simple.

On the surface she’d just packed her bags and left without a backward glance. Only a few very special people knew why. And they wouldn’t have told a soul.

‘How long are you staying for?’ he asked.

‘Until Wednesday. Not long. I’ve got to get back to London…’ The line moved forward and Kate reached for a china cup. It was good to have something sensible to do with her hands. She rested it on the metal grid and pushed the ‘coffee white decaf’ button.

‘Not going back to the States immediately, then?’

‘No.’ She put the cup down on a saucer and made an effort to relax. ‘And how are you?’ She watched his strong hands go through the same procedure as she’d done.

‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘You heard about Laura, I suppose?’

Her stomach did a somersault as the floor appeared to disappear beneath her feet. Damn it! She had heard.

With crushing clarity she remembered Debbie’s tearful phone call. The shock of hearing that Laura was dead. How could she have been so thoughtless? ‘Yes, I—’

‘She died.’

‘Y-yes, I know. I’m so sorry.’ She pulled her hand through her hair. ‘I meant to write at the time but…’ She trailed off weakly.

But…she’d been busy with her own trauma. Her own grief had been so intense when Richard left that she’d struggled to believe anyone could be hurting as much as she was. She’d had no compassion left for anyone but herself.

Not even Debbie, who’d been distraught at having lost her friend. With a pang she realised she’d scarcely given Gideon a thought.

She looked up at his face. His pain was there. Etched on his face. In his eyes. And there was nothing she could really say to help him. How did you even begin to say something sensible to a man who’d lost the wife he’d loved?

His smile was tight. Forced. ‘Two years ago. Not long after Tilly was born.’

‘I know. I’d just gone to LA. Debbie rang me…’ Thankfully the queue moved on again. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

‘Do you want a muffin?’ He cut her off. ‘Or perhaps some chocolate? You’re usually safer in these places if it’s wrapped.’

Kate looked up. One moment death, the next muffins. It was strange how people did that. Moved in and out of grief. It was as though they couldn’t bear to think about it for too long. Just touched it and then had to turn away before the pain became too great.

‘Nothing. Thanks.’

He reached out for some biscuits. ‘I missed breakfast. It was an early start,’ he said by way of explanation.

Kate nodded. The queue moved on again and they reached the till point.

Laura Bannerman had had everything: two parents who loved her, a beautiful home, her own pony, blonde hair, no acne—and Gideon.

It was difficult to think of her as dead. Horrible now to think how much she’d hated her. Well, envied was a more accurate description. She hadn’t hated her. Her life had seemed enchanted, that was all, and if she could have waved a magic wand and changed places with Laura she would have.

But not now. Poor Laura was dead and Gideon a widower. No one could have foreseen that coming. She would have liked to ask what she’d died of but knew she couldn’t.

He picked up the tray. ‘Do you mind where we sit?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Smoking—’

‘Non-smoking,’ she cut in quickly. ‘Gave up last year. One year, nine months, fourteen days and counting.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’

Did he remember about that? She’d started smoking that summer in a desperate, foolish attempt to look older. Who knew why she’d thought he’d be impressed? It hadn’t worked but she’d started a difficult habit to break.

Gideon carried the tray across to a table by one of the windows. Two long bench seats were either side. ‘Will this do?’

‘It’s fine.’ Kate unbuttoned her coat and sat down.

‘Are you staying with Debbie?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Ah.’ He unwrapped his biscuit before snapping it in half. ‘Are you sure you don’t want some?’

‘I don’t eat biscuits.’

‘Ever?’

‘Empty calories,’ she said, picking up her cup. ‘It’s all about discipline.’

Gideon frowned. Discipline. It didn’t surprise him she should say something like that. Discipline was probably the mantra by which she lived her life.

Not many people managed the breakthrough into television from radio. It took determination and a single-minded, focused kind of commitment. The kind that made one careless about the feelings of others.

A shadow passed across his face. He knew all about that kind of ambition. The human cost of it…

What was the point of Kate Simmonds coming back to the island now? When Babs was dead? It was too late. She’d been too busy when it had mattered to visit the people who loved her.

Just as he’d been too busy to notice how ill Laura had become.

‘No chocolate? That’s quite a sacrifice,’ he said, looking back at Kate. Had she really not noticed how much Babs and Debbie had wanted her to visit? It seemed unbelievable.

He studied her. She was going to make quite a stir on the island. Her clothes were expensive, her hair obviously cut by an expert, her make-up impeccable and her nails acrylic. Still had the same brown eyes though. The ones that looked out at everything and everyone with such pain and made you feel as if you were kicking a puppy.

‘Hanging out with Hollywood’s “beautiful people” is enough to give anyone neurosis about their weight.’ Kate shrugged and sipped the bitter liquid before pulling a face at her coffee. ‘That’s disgusting! Like drinking tar.’

He smiled. ‘It’s the worst coffee on the planet. Had you forgotten? You’ve been away too long.’

Kate’s face relaxed and her eyes lost some of their tension. She put the cup back down on the tray. ‘Do you still own the Quay Inn?’

‘Yes. We’re in the Michelin Guide with one star. We’ve had that for a few years now and we’re hoping for a second.’

Hoping. That was a lie if ever there was one. He was working every hour God sent to make it happen—and shunting his girls all over the place. Babs had told him it was ‘short-term pain for long term gain’ but was it really worth it? He rubbed a tired hand across the back of his neck.

‘That’s fantastic.’

‘Yes.’ He looked down at the table. It was fantastic. It was his lifetime ambition. Their ambition. His and Laura’s. But without her it didn’t seem worth having. ‘Laura and I always hoped…It seemed important at the time. But…well…’

Kate looked away, suddenly feeling as if she was stepping on eggshells. She could feel his sadness radiating from him. How pointless it all was. She knew he would trade it all, all his success, if he could just have his wife back. She understood something of how that felt.

The silence stretched on. ‘How old are your children now?’ she asked in a rush. As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back. She knew, almost to the day, how old his eldest child was.

‘Jemima is five.’

Laura had been pregnant on her last visit to the island. Glowing with excitement. It had hurt.

‘And Matilda is three,’ he said quietly. ‘Just three.’

Kate watched him bow his head as though the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. A strange phrase that. Whenever she heard it she wondered what it actually meant—but looking at Gideon she knew exactly.

And then he picked up his coffee and drank without flinching. For a man who could taste the most intricate food combination with complete precision that was quite a feat.

‘They’re pretty names.’

‘Laura…’ His voice broke. ‘Laura picked them. I was going to choose the boys’. We’d hoped to have more children. Maybe another couple.’ He shrugged and Kate could feel his desperation to return to normal. Heard the steadying breath he took. ‘But it wasn’t to be. You haven’t got any? Children?’ he clarified when she didn’t immediately answer.

Kate almost flinched. It was a reasonable question. In time, no doubt, she’d get used to people asking it. ‘No. No children.’

She could have added she would never have children. Couldn’t. But it was impossible to formulate those words. It was as though it would become more real if she said it out loud. Make it true. Which was illogical because you couldn’t change a medical fact. She would never have children.

‘No time, I suppose. With your career.’

She gave a swift smile. One she knew didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It certainly keeps me out of mischief.’

‘A significant other?’

‘Not so you’d notice,’ she answered quickly with a furtive glance out of the window. Not any more.

This couldn’t go on much longer. With every moment the island was drawing closer. It was too uncomfortable meeting Gideon again. ‘Too busy working to have a relationship,’ she lied.

Gideon sat back on the bench. ‘You got your dream. It must be very exciting.’

Exciting? She wanted to laugh. You could describe it like that, she supposed, if you ignored all the endless waiting around to interview someone who didn’t much want to be interviewed. The sickening feeling when they only answered you in monosyllables and you knew you had to make something interesting out of it. Of course there were moments. Exciting moments.

Kate let her forefinger play with the edge of her saucer. But they didn’t fill the void she felt in her life. There was no way to explain how she felt about doing yet another interview with yet another ‘star’ promoting yet another film. In the greater scheme of things it just didn’t matter. Somewhere along the line it had lost its glamour. And all the time she had a different dream. Another dream. One that could never come true.

‘I’ve been very lucky,’ she compromised.

Gideon’s mouth twisted into the half-smile she remembered. Hell, it was sexy. The effect was like a light bulb going on.

‘Luck takes work. No one knows that better than I do. The Quay Inn isn’t a success by chance. I put in long hours to make it happen. Sacrificed a lot.’

‘Sometimes I think there’s an element of fate about it though. Just being in the right place at the right time. Most of my opportunities have come about by chance.’ She looked out of the window again, glad to see how close they were to land. Not much further and she could escape.

‘It helps if chance is on your side,’ he replied, breaking off as a lady in a red anorak approached them, her eyes on Kate. ‘Can I help?’

She waited until Kate looked up before saying hesitantly, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but are you the lady from the television? The one who does the weather?’

The expression on Gideon’s face almost made Kate laugh but she answered with a calm smile, grateful for the interruption. ‘Entertainment news. That’s my slot. Hollywood gossip.’

In the two weeks she’d been back in London she’d almost got used to this kind of thing happening. In LA she’d passed completely unobserved.

The woman turned round to nod triumphantly at her friend, who was hovering uncertainly by the evacuation notice. Then she turned back to rummage in her anorak pocket, pulling out a notebook and pen.

‘Would you mind signing this? I said to Yvonne—she’s the lady in the brown coat—over there.’ She pointed. ‘With the glasses. I said to Yvonne when we were on the ferry deck that I recognised you. I always watch your bit. We both do. She said she didn’t think it was you. But I’m very good with faces.’

Kate suppressed the bubble of laughter building inside her as she flicked over the shopping list on the top page. ‘Of course I’ll sign it.’ Out of the corner of her eye she could see Gideon watching in apparent disbelief. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Cynthia.’ Her chest puffed out in gratification as she saw Kate begin to write her name. ‘Cynthia Puttock. Mrs Cynthia Puttock.’

Kate handed the notebook back with a wide smile. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Cynthia.’

Cynthia looked at the autograph with immense satisfaction. ‘Would you mind…’ she began as a new thought occurred to her. ‘Would you mind if I had my picture taken with you? My husband isn’t going to believe I met you.’

She didn’t wait for Kate to reply before she was waving over her shoulder at her friend, ignoring the tannoy which was asking for all drivers to return to their cars.

‘It won’t take a moment. Yvonne, would you—?’ She broke off and turned impulsively towards Gideon. ‘Would you take the picture? Yvonne, you stand there.’

Kate decided to give in with good grace. She flicked her hair back off her face and stood up, placing herself between the two women. It was as close to being a celebrity as she was going to get. As close as she wanted to get. It made her feel uncomfortable.

She watched as Gideon was given a rudimentary introduction to the stranger’s camera.

‘There,’ he said, moments later. ‘I hope I’ve got you a photo.’

‘Thank you very much. I—’

The tannoy cut off their gratitude. ‘We’d better go down to the cars,’ Kate said apologetically. ‘It’s very nice to have met you both.’

Gideon’s hand moved to fit into the small of her back and he guided her towards the yellow exit. ‘Does that happen often?’ he asked quietly.

‘Only since I’ve been back in the UK.’ Her face broke into a genuine smile as real laughter bubbled up. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not letting it go to my head. How can I? I’m on the page after carrots and potatoes and she thought I was the weather girl! Nice to know I’m memorable.’

He laughed and Kate turned to look at him. He looked much younger when he laughed. Handsome. She hadn’t thought about him for years and yet, seeing him again, it was as though she were seventeen again. She was completely aware of his hand resting in the small of her back. He was hardly touching her and yet…

She moved away, her smile dying on her face. ‘We’d better get back to the cars. It was nice to see you again.’

‘And you.’

‘After such a long time.’ Kate reached into her bag for her car keys. ‘Oh, and thank you for the coffee.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ he said, pulling open the door down to the car deck.

Kate held her long coat off the steps as she walked down in front of him. At the bottom she turned back to him. ‘Well, goodbye. I’m glad we bumped into each other.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about goodbye,’ he said, holding the door open for the couple behind. ‘We’re bound to meet again.’

‘A-are we?’ Kate asked, suddenly feeling foolish.

‘Inevitably. Debbie’s looking after my girls today.’ He broke off as someone loudly tooted their car horn. ‘We’d better hurry and get to our cars. People are getting irritated.’

Kate turned obediently and cut through towards her little green MG.

‘Nice car,’ she heard Gideon say, and felt vaguely pleased. Though why it should matter that he liked her car she didn’t know. She forced herself not to look back at him but climbed elegantly into her low-slung car.

Meeting Gideon again had been a bizarre experience. Unexpected. Though there was no reason why he shouldn’t be on the car ferry. Lots of locals popped back and forth to the mainland. It was just she’d been stealing herself for the funeral. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone yet.

She waited while the heavy doors of the ferry opened, watching as the line next to her was sent out first. How could she have been so stupid not to remember about Laura the minute she’d recognised him?

She leant forward and rested her head on the steering wheel, closing her eyes in mortification. It seemed it was her destiny to act like an idiot when she was around him. Maybe some things never changed, however many years passed.

She started the engine and put it in gear. His face had looked so bleak. But then what did she expect? His wife had died. It didn’t get much worse than that.

Certainly she’d nothing to complain about in comparison. Not even Richard’s leaving could really compare to Gideon’s loss. Kate’s hands gripped on the steering wheel as a wave of sadness washed over her. It was never far away. Always lapping at the edge of her consciousness. Making her feel dissatisfied—and angry.

At least Gideon had his children. She would never have that. Never have a family of her own. Never have anyone really love her…

Kate let her car roll forward as the van in front started to move off. And now she had to face Debbie.

There was the bump where the ramp joined land—and she was back on the island. Back where people would look at her and remember she’d been a foster girl. Unwanted. An object of pity. The one with head lice.

Or she had been until Aunt Babs had declared war on them. A bitter battle which had involved her spending hours with her head over the bath, a fine tooth comb scraping over her scalp. Kate smiled grimly and took the road that led towards Newport, scarcely aware of the rain falling heavily on her wind-screen.

If it were Debbie in London, staying in her flat for the weekend, it would have been completely different. It would have been fun. Then they’d have been squabbling over whether to have Indian or Chinese and whether the best shops were in Covent Garden or Oxford Street. Sisters. Almost.

But Debbie on the Isle of Wight was another thing altogether. Here she lived the life Kate wanted and could never have. Here it was like looking into a mirror and seeing an alternative universe, one she wasn’t eligible to enter. The poor child, standing barefoot in the snow, looking through a frosted window at a family opening presents in front of the fire. Still the outsider looking in.

And it hurt. Still hurt.

Debbie had a husband who loved her. Two children. Both boys. Callum and Daniel.

Kate’s heart twisted inside her—as it always did when she thought of how cruel fate had been to her. All she wanted was the simple things in life and yet they’d always eluded her.

She lowered the gear to negotiate a tight bend. She was being selfish. Debbie had lost her mother and was hurting. This wasn’t the time to feel envy.

Because it was envy. Kate recognised it but felt powerless to do anything about it, even though she knew it twisted and distorted her life.

Six years since she’d done this journey and yet she remembered it perfectly. She knew the ancient oak tree that stood proudly on the corner just before she had to turn left and the old pub on the corner. It was all achingly familiar. Round the next bend was the hotel where they played croquet on a summer afternoon.

And if she could have turned away and run she would have. It hurt. Just being here hurt. Knowing that in a few short minutes she’d be sitting in Debbie’s house drinking tea and hearing her children playing somewhere in the house would hurt. Desperately.

She wouldn’t take anything away from Debbie. She loved her. It was just she wanted a little of her happiness. She wanted to know what it was like to hold a newborn baby, to feel its soft little body curved into hers and know she was a mother.

Kate took the car past the hotel and on towards Debbie’s house. Every day there was this intense pain, a huge sense of loss. A column of ice running the length of her body. It didn’t matter that she’d managed to break into a career other people envied, or that she’d bought herself a great flat in Highgate, drove a trendy car. She knew she was a failure. Deep down.